


I Don't Want To Live Forever

by umaficwriter



Series: Crowen Playlist [13]
Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: Based on Taylolsr Swift Song, Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt, Crowen Playlist, Crowen Playlist Challenge, Crowen Spotify Playlist, F/M, I Don't Want To Live Forever, Songfic, Zayn and Taylor Swift Song, kinda happy ending, quarentine fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:42:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23564728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/umaficwriter/pseuds/umaficwriter
Summary: 13th on Crowen Playlist! Owen and Cristina once more deal with their separation, ‘till she comes back home.
Relationships: Owen Hunt/Cristina Yang
Series: Crowen Playlist [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1602304
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	I Don't Want To Live Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Notes: Hey guys, I had a problem with my laptop and it’s still a little banged up, but at least, I can write some heartbreaking pieces! So, let’s get to that, shall we?   
> P.S: Just to remind you, you can always listen to the Crowen – Cristina Yang and Owen Hunt, playlist on Spotify!   
> Disclaimer: Grey’s not mine and all. Song belongs to Taylor Swift and ZAYN.

**_Been sittin' eyes wide open behind these four walls, hopin' you'll call_ ** **_  
It's just a cruel existence like it's no point hopin' at all_ **

Owen stared at his cellphone for the nth time that day.

It was _between_ _the_ _lines_ inflected that he and Cristina would maintain contact after she was gone.

Maybe it was for _him_.

Not for her, apparently.

They exchanged a few emails after her departure. That was seven months ago. Her last response to him a month ago.

Alright, alright. Was he stupid or something?

She was running a multi-million dollar facility on the other side of the world, probably had so much to do, that talking via email with her ex-husband, was the last of her worries.

But, still. It stung.

He tried to call her last week. It was the wee hours of the night in Seattle. In Switzerland, only four in the afternoon.

Her phone rang ‘till it went to voicemail. He didn’t have it in him to let her any messages. Owen hung up, turned around and tried to get some sleep.

This night though, this night was different.

He didn’t know _why_. It just felt like it.

And he needed to hear her voice. Hear her breathing through the phone’ speakers. He needed _her_.

It was stupid of him. Because they were _oh_ _so_ _over_.

But, _still_.

So, he sat in a cot, inside an on-call room and dialed her number. On the wee hours of the night in Seattle, but only four in the afternoon in Switzerland, and waited for her voice to come.

It didn’t.

**_Baby, baby, I feel crazy_ ** **_  
Up all night, all night and every day  
Give me somethin', oh, but you say nothin'  
What is happenin' to me?_ **

“So, Joe’s?” Derek approached the ginger chief as he was out the Hospital’ sliding doors.

“Don’t think so, Shep. Not tonight.” Owen responded passing Derek by and going in his truck’s direction.

“Rough day, huh?” the neurosurgeon tried again jogging in Owen’s direction.

“Yeah…” he sighed and unlocked his vehicle.

“I see… another time then.” The brunette gave his friend a small smile and turned around to leave him alone. “Hey, Hunt?” he called turning and facing the chief.

Owen just propped his head and waited for Derek to go on.

“Meredith misses her too. I wish she was here.” Shepherd said with a longly gaze and finally let Owen be.

The trauma surgeon entered his car and started it, going home for the night. When he got there. He wished he had stayed at the Hospital.

Two months ago, he had bought the firehouse back and Derek was helping him remodel it.

Of course, Meredith knew, and _of_ _course_ she’d told Cristina over the endless calls they had, according to Derek himself. However, Cristina never mentioned it over the phone with him. Or in any emails, or texts. But then, their conversations were short and with no room for reminiscing, so what was there to say? ‘Oh, remember the firehouse you bought me, because you didn’t care where we would live, but I did and you loved me? Well, I bought it back and am remodeling it with your person’s husband. How are you?’

He couldn’t do that. To him. To them.

He acted as if it was an ordinary house. With ordinary floors, Derek didn’t convince her to keep a long time ago, with ordinary walls, they haven’t spent day and night painting, with ordinary rooms, they haven’t made love into… and that was life. He would move on, eventually.

And with that thought, Owen got out of the shower, turned off the faucet and wrapped a towel around his waist, walking back to the bedroom and into the closet.

With boxers on only, he got inside the covers and tried to relax and get some sleep.

He _couldn’t_.

He stopped trying when the alarm clock on the beside table read: 2:22A.M.

The man got up, went to the kitchen, got some toast done and some tea. Maybe the lack of sleep was hunger.

It _wasn’t_.

He knew deep down it was not.

It was some kind of hunger. Hunger for a response. An answer from her, saying that she missed him too and was coming back, so they could work things out.

That was what he was hungry for.

Sadly, he would _starve_.

He would be up all night, every night for eternity and his hunger would never cease. Because he was so in love with her, and against facts there were no arguments.

That’s what was happening to him.

**_I don't wanna live forever_ ** **_  
'Cause I know I'll be livin' in vain  
And I don't wanna fit wherever  
I just wanna keep callin' your name  
Until you come back home  
I just wanna keep callin' your name  
Until you come back home  
I just wanna keep callin' your name  
Until you come back home_ **

Two weeks after, Jackson tried to get him to go out on a date with some friend of April’s. It didn’t work. _At_ _all_. Because the girl was brunette and curly, what just made Owen, unconsciously compare her mane to Cristina’s.

And then, it was before nine in the evening when he was _already_ at home.

Once more, he wished she was here. Or that, at least, she answered his emails or his phone calls.

She couldn’t excuse herself for _not_ having the time, because she was talking to Meredith. He knew, ‘cause he caught them speaking on the phone that very morning.

She was just… ignoring him. Maybe that was a sign for him to give up already and move on once and for all. 

But Owen Hunt didn’t want to fit in and get on the dating pool again. He wanted to go home at night, after a massive shift and find his person waiting for him. Wearing his clothes and smelling his cologne and saying she missed him that day.

He wanted the before.

The Before where he still had her.

The Before where they would drive home together, her hand on his knee and his arm around her shoulders.

The Before where they would laugh at her cooking attempts, kiss and make love on the kitchen floor.

Owen wanted to call her and tell her to come home, because he was waiting for her.

He wouldn’t.

Hunt put his cellphone down on the beside table and turned around to where once was her side of the bed.

She wouldn’t pick up and she wouldn’t come back either.

**_I'm sittin' eyes wide open and I got one thing stuck in my mind_ ** **_  
Wondering if I dodged a bullet or just lost the love of my life_ **

Her feet were hurting like a truck had pressed them onto the ground.

Being the director meant that she had to dress like it, not that she had a style problem, she just had a stilettos problem. They killed her feet.

Cristina got out of the little torture instruments and walked into her apartment in Switzerland. It didn’t help that her condo was two blocks away from the institute and she did the route by foot. In those killer hills. _Quite_ literally.

She sighed as she entered her room and set her purse on the foot of the bed. She took out her cell and scrolled for notifications.

She was not surprised seeing Mer messages. She was, although, surprised seeing Owen’s messages and emails and missed call.

She sighed again.

Cristina tossed her phone away and went for a shower.

After her nightly routine, thing Meredith had convinced her on starting with her from afar, Cristina found herself alone, inside the covers, with her phone in hand.

The plan was call Owen back. She had avoided him long enough. Not because she wanted to. No. Cristina did it because she needed to.

Her mind was constantly playing this question over and over again in her skull.

Had she done the right thing?

Of course!

She was happy! She had almost uneliminated resources on her field and she finally could build a heart from _nothing_ and she was _fulfilled_.

She was one step of accomplishing the impossible.

So, why it didn’t feel that way?

The woman set her phone on the beside table and turned off the lamp. On her back, facing the ceiling, Cristina spent the night.

Dreamless. Sleepless.

**_Baby, baby, I feel crazy_ ** **_  
Up all night, all night and every day  
I gave you something, but you gave me nothing  
What is happening to me?_ **

On her wishful thinking of the ungodly hours of the morning, Cristina asked herself if she had gave everything she had for her and Owen’s relationship to work.

Had she?

 _Yes_.

She did. Multiple times all she did was give and ask nothing in return, simply because of the fact she loved him _so_ much, that his happiness was _enough_ to make her happy. ‘till the moment it _wasn’t_ anymore.

And she was _deeply_ sorry for that.

Sorry that she wasn’t a simple girl, with simple dreams and needs.

Because, a simple girl didn’t have to move to the other side of the world to get her dreams to come true.

A simple girl would agree to have countless ginger babies and live in a white picket fence house with her trauma surgeon of a husband.

A simple girl could work everyday and come back home at night and feel it was _enough_.

But Cristina had realized, at a very young age, she wasn’t _anything_ _like_ simple.

She was _extraordinary_. _Fearless_. _Goddess_.

So, her life consisted in moving away from _everything_ she loved to pursue the thing she loved the most.

Her gift.

She couldn’t express how sorry she was that Cristina Yang wasn’t a simple girl.

Because she missed her ex-husband.

And still loved him.

 _Deeply_ , _truly_.

**_I've been looking sad in all the nicest places_ ** **_  
(Baby, baby, I feel crazy)_ **

It was a fundraiser. 

Cristina didn’t know _why_ they needed it, because clearly they had all the money they could get already, but as the board always said ‘money is never too much’, so there she was. Looking pretty in a red gown, making small talk, convincing people over expensive champagne, that they should donate their millions to the Klausman Institute because she was the _best_ there is and because it would make _wonders_ to their image.

She wanted nothing more than to see a familiar face among that sea of strangers.

But not just _any_ familiar face.

 _His_ face.

**_I see you around in all these empty faces_ ** **_  
(Up all night, all night and every day)_ **

Cristina was in a beautiful theater. People had cleaned up pretty nicely, including herself, and all those lights around were blinding. The music was actually very good and… _still_. There was nothing she wanted more than to turn around to Owen tapping on her shoulder, telling her he thinks she is beautiful.

Cristina was so lost in thought, that when someone bumped on her, the Asian actually let her _rendezvous_ play out in front of her eyes.

It didn’t help that the gentleman who had bumped into her shoulder was redhead and tall, and a lot like her ex-husband.

She turned around following his bid apology just to be disappointed to the fact that it wasn’t him, just as the still functional and rational part of her brain told her.

**_I've been looking sad in all the nicest places_ ** **_  
(Give me somethin', oh, but you say nothin')_ **

It was a beautiful park. If one can call it that way.

People were dressed nicely.

The sky in Seattle never been clearer.

It was like it’s making fun of them.

The grass was so green. A visual contrast with the blacklines on people’s clothes.

Theere was no apparent rain coming. But the water was coming down their faces.

The park was silent. But it was always quiet in a cemetery.

They all looked sad, so Cristina could mingle into the crowd and look normal. 

Meredith was silently letting her tears fall, and that broke her person’s heart.

Derek was dead.

Derek had been almost dead before.

And Cristina had saved him.

She would give _everything_ to have another gun pointed to her head, if that meant she’d be able to save him again. For Meredith, for Zola, and Bailey, and the little one growing inside Mer’s womb.

After the service was over, Cristina took Mer and the kids home. Before entering the car though, the cardio goddess couldn’t help but notice that her ex-husband had the decease’s younger sister inside his arms.

Where _she_ should be instead.

That stung.

Even so, she ignored the will of running into his arms and got inside Meredith’s car and drove to the dream house, that wasn’t so dreamy anymore.

After drinking lots of red with Meredith and putting the kids to bed. Cristina gave Mer some sleeping pills and stayed up in the living room, answering some emails Shane had sent her.

Among the messages she saw.

I Miss You

Without reading the remittent, Cristina knew to whom it belonged to.

**_Now I'm in a cab, I tell him where your place is_ ** **_  
What is happenin' to me?_ **

The lamp posts illuminated the cab insides.

 _Maybe_ she was stupid for doing this.

 _Maybe_ she was naïve.

All the wine helped with the did-not-care-at-all-how-stupid-I’m-gonna-seem-if-Amelia-was-with-him part.

Because she _didn’t_.

She just wanted to come back home. And _Owen_ was home.

 _Firehouse_ was home.

And there was where she was headed right now.

She payed the driver and knocked heavily on the oak doors.

Those were the original doors.

Owen had told her a lifetime ago.

“ _Comin_.” Cristina heard the muffed voice from the other side.

A second later, she was facing him.

He was barefoot, had his pj’s on that consisted in: an army t-shirt, and plaid green slacks.

His blue eyes were grey-ish with the light coming from the street lights.

“Crist- _What_?”

“I’m _home_.”

**_Until you come back home_ **

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me that you guys don’t want that happening on the series.   
> See ya xx


End file.
